Dancing with Molly (21 page)

Someone stepped on my hand, and my fingers exploded in pain. Fear coursed through me, hot and feral and alive. I shoved myself up. The dancers around me had red eyes. They had fangs. They were painted with blood. I turned around to find Carson, and he grabbed me roughly, locking one hand around the back of my head and shoving his tongue so far into my mouth I thought I was going to choke.

I was high. Very, very high. But I still knew this wasn't right. I shoved him off of me. He shoved me back. Hard. The back of my head slammed into the tree behind me. Carson laughed and took a fourth hit of molly, downing it with an entire bottle of water. He chugged it so fast, the water streamed down the side of his face and dripped onto his bare shoulders. When had he taken his shirt off? The water glistened like blood.

I grabbed his arm. The back of my head throbbed, and when I touched it with my free hand, it felt wet. I was bleeding. Carson! We have to get out of here!

The music was so loud, it was pounding inside my chest.

Carson flung me off of him. You're the one who wanted to come here!

That was the last thing he said to me—You're the one who wanted to come here.

He cackled and then turned around and ran. He sprinted around the party clearing in a circle, cheering and jumping and then running some more. He and Reid slammed chests, then both fell back on the ground, and were up again in an instant. I backed away from the other partiers, taking shelter under a tree as the world started to spin. My jaw was so tight, my temples hurt. I needed some gum or something to eat, but I didn't know anyone and I could barely make sense of what I was seeing.

The next time Carson breezed past me, I grabbed his wrist.

We need to go.

Carson stopped. He looked at me and for a split second, his eyes focused. Oh, thank god, I thought. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Maybe this stuff was harsh but went through your system fast, and he was already coming down. I gripped both his hands, waiting for him to say, Yeah. Let's get out of here.

Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He went down so fast, I didn't even have time to scream. His skull slammed into a rock and one of the dancing psychos stepped fully on his face with his huge sneaker. Blood seeped out of
Carson's nose, but he didn't move. He didn't twitch or writhe or anything. He was gone.

That was when I started to scream.

The doctor just told me I'm lucky to be alive. I don't feel lucky. I feel like shit. I couldn't write anymore after that last bit. My dad says Carson is still comatose. He says maybe I can see him tomorrow. All I can think about is how handsome he looked at the restaurant. How he wanted to stay. How right now he would be home and safe if I'd just let him stay.

I don't even remember how we got out of the woods. I just remember a lot of people running and me screaming into a phone and then flashing lights. I think I passed out after that. I remember flying down a hallway on a stretcher, my mom's purse slapping against my arm. And I remember the stomach pumping. I will NEVER forget that. When some big male nurse shoves a tube down your throat and you wretch all over yourself, it's not something you forget, even if you want to. The inside of my throat still hurts, and all I can eat is broth and Jell-O.

There was some kind of chemical in the molly. Something that makes it hit you faster, but can also cause bad reactions.
Fucking Big Dave. I told the cops exactly where they could find that troll. I hope he goes to jail for life.

I just wish they'd let me see Carson. Maybe if he could hear my voice, he'd wake up. I just want to look him in the eye and tell him I'm sorry and that I will never, ever make him go to a party again. I just want to tell him I love him.

I'm home. Everyone's tiptoeing around me like they think I'm going to explode. Exploding is the last thing I feel like doing. I feel like curling up in a ball and dying. Slowly. And as painfully as possible.

They let me see Carson today before we checked out of the hospital. I almost wish they hadn't, even after all my begging. He had this big tube sticking out of his mouth and a bandage on his nose. That jackass broke it when he stepped on him. He looked so pale, he was almost green, and even though it's only been a few days, he looked skinny. Shrunken. It was like his perfect, strong chest had gone concave.

His parents left me alone with him so I could talk to him, but when I opened my mouth, I just started sobbing. I clung to his hand and cried and cried and cried. When I finally could
talk, I just kept saying I'm sorry over and over again. I wanted to say something encouraging. Tell him he was going to get better and that I'd be here when he did, but looking at him made it all seem impossible.

I don't think he's going to get better. But he has to. He has to. He's Carson. He's healthy and athletic and sweet and fun and kind and loving. He's going to college in the fall. His life is going to be perfect.

It has to be. It has to.

Jess came by today. I didn't want to talk to her. I don't want to talk to anyone. I was staring at the TV when she came in. She told me she wished she'd been there so she could have helped, but I didn't say anything. I'm glad she wasn't there. If she was, maybe she'd be in a coma too. Or dead.

I love Carson so much it hurts. I miss him so much, and I'm so, so scared. I can't think about anything else. I can't talk to anyone because I'll just start crying. He's the only person I want to talk to, and I won't talk again until I can talk to him.

Eventually, Jess gave up trying to talk to me and just sat there and watched TV in silence. I kept wishing she'd go away. When she finally did, I felt relieved.

Carson is brain dead. My dad just told me. His parents are deciding whether or not to keep him on the machines. If they take him off, he'll die. He'll die. He's going to die.

It's my fault. It's my fault. It's all my fault. I'm never going to hear him laugh again. I'm never going to hear him say my name, see him smile, touch his face. He's never going to go to college or play soccer or get married or have kids. And it's all my fault. Mine. You're the one who wanted to come here, he said. And he was right. I made him go to the party. I made him leave the restaurant. All he wanted to do was sit with me and eat dinner and talk. That was what he wanted. And I killed him.

Carson is gone. His funeral is tomorrow. I can't go. I can't face all those people. They know what I did. They know it was me. I wish they'd put me in the ground with him.

My mother took me to see Tim today. I cried the entire time. Just sat on his couch and cried. He gave me a box of tissues, and
I used the whole thing. Everything hurts. Every last inch of me. He kept saying, Tell me what you're feeling. What are you feeling right now?

I told him I want to die.

Someone has been sitting by my bed at all times for the past two days. My mom, my dad, Ashley, Jess, Tim, even my grandmother is here. I haven't spoken to any of them. I don't know what they're doing. I don't know why they're here. I wish they would go away.

My mom keeps trying to make me eat, but I can't. I won't. Carson will never eat anything ever again. I wonder if he knew what was happening right before he passed out. I wonder if he was scared. I wonder if he hated me, in that moment. If that was why he looked at me so clearly right before he went down. Because he knew. He knew that his life was over and it was my fault.

Apparently I slept for two days and while I was sleeping, my mom read this journal. I woke up and she was sitting in front of me, crying, with the journal open in her lap. I sat up to shout at her, and my brain went fuzzy so fast I had to lay right down
again. The room was spinning. I closed my eyes and brought my hands to my head, but it didn't help. I could feel the bed underneath me turning, my organs fighting to keep up with the constant motion.

Mommy, make it stop, I heard myself say.

She gently moved my hands and kissed my forehead. I'd never felt anything so good.

That's all I want to do, she said.

I can't believe she read the whole thing. I can't believe she knows everything. All the sex and the drugs and the insanity. I can't believe she still kissed me after reading all that. OMG, I think I'm going to throw up.

Tonight my dad brought me chicken broth in a mug with a lid and a little spout, so I wouldn't spill it, and said I had to drink it. I was offended at first. I'm not a baby. But when I tried to hold it, I was so weak I almost dropped it, so then I knew why. My mother and father sat on either side of my bed and watched me drink it. I felt like a prisoner again, but the warm liquid felt so good going down, I didn't care. Then my mother took out the journal and handed it to me. She told me she wanted me to read it, from beginning to end, and then she wanted me to decide what I wanted to do.

What does that mean? I asked.

Well, I guess it means do you want to live, or do you want to die?

Then they both left my room.

I stayed up all night reading. If some of the pages in this thing are smeared, it's because I couldn't stop crying. I've never felt so many clashing emotions at the same time in my life. I felt stupid and angry and indignant and sad and happy and excited and terrified and guilty. Carson never needed the drugs, did he? He was always fine just being with me. He did them for fun, but he never needed them to feel comfortable or happy. I never thought of myself as the one pushing this on other people, but that's what I did to him and not just that last night. He wanted to be with ME. Not the me I was on molly. He loved me. He really loved me. I'll never forgive myself for what I did to him. Never.

I just got into a screaming fight with Jess. I woke up and she was sitting in a chair, watching me. I asked her why she was here, and she said, You're on suicide watch.

So? Wasn't it my family's job to watch me? What the hell was she doing here?

I asked her again, and she freaked out. She said, I care about you, you asshole! I love you! You're my best friend, and I'm not going to let you die!

So, I told her she'd be better off without me. I apparently kill the people I love.

And she said I did not kill Carson. It was Carson's decision to do drugs. His decision to take four hits. And it was Big Dave's decision to cut some crazy shit into the molly. If Carson was here, he'd tell you the exact same thing! YOU DID NOT KILL ANYONE! she screamed at me. GET OVER YOURSELF, AND GET THE HELL OUT OF BED!

Then she stormed out of my room, and slammed the door.

Tonight, when my mom brought me toast, I ate it. I almost threw it up, but I managed to keep it down. I kept telling myself just one more bite. Just get through one more bite. Then you can sleep.

I can't stop thinking about what Jess said about getting over myself. I read through this journal again today, and I realized everything in it is about me. I mean, it's supposed to be about
my life and everything, but so much of it is about what other people are thinking of me. What they do to me. How they make me feel. Whether they like me or think I'm pretty or dorky or what. It's like . . .

It's like I never think about anybody else, or how they feel, or what they need or want. I swear there's something wrong with me. I don't want to be that person. I don't. I feel so fucking stupid.

Jess is right. I have to get over myself. But it's just so hard. Everything feels so hard.

Today my dad took off work to go to Tim's with me and my mom and Ashley. I told them all I wanted them to be there, but when I sat down on the couch, my throat closed over. I felt like an idiot for thinking I could do this. I felt like an asshole for putting them through what I'd put them through. I felt like a huge, stinking hypocrite, junkie loser. But even though I knew I was wrong, it was SO hard to say it. SO FUCKING HARD. I hated the idea that they would all be thinking I told you so. That they would all feel so vindicated. But I knew what I had to do if I wanted to change. If I wanted to stop feeling like such shit and making the people around me feel like such shit.

I loved Carson. I did. But I didn't want to end up like him.

I was wearing a sweatshirt, and I wound the cord around and around and around my finger until there was no blood left in the tip.

Take your time, Tim said.

I opened my mouth and tears filled my eyes. One, big, fat drop hit my knee. I looked up at my mom, but I could barely see her through all the blur.

I decided, I said and choked on a sob.

Decided what, honey? my mom asked.

I breathed in.

I decided I want to live.